Class 
Book 




Co[)yrightN°^^/^ 

COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



MOODS, SONGS, AND 
DOGGERELS 



BY TEE SAME AUTHOR 



VILLA RUBEIN, and other Stories 
THE ISLAND PHARISEES 
THE MAN OF PROPERTY 
THE COUNTRY HOUSE 
FRATERNITY 
THE PATRICIAN 

A COMMENTARY 
A MOTLEY 

PLAYS : THE SILVER BOX 
JOY 
STRIFE 
JUSTICE 

THE LITTLE DREAM 
THE PIGEON 



MOODS, SONGS, AND 
DOGGERELS 



BY 

JOHN GALSWORTHY 



NEW YORK 

CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 

1912 



Copyright, 191 2, 6y Charles Scribner's Sons 

Published March, iQia 







^ /,<ft!f 



£ ni ,1 :?()!) fir. 4 



J TO 

^ MY WIFE 



The Author's thanks are due to the Editors 
of Scrihner^s Magazine, Atlantic Monthly, 
English Review, Nation, Outlook, and Daily 
Mail for permission to reprint some of these 
verses. 

March 191 2. 



CONTENTS 
MOODS 

PAGE 

A Dream 3 

Courage ^9 

Love 20 

Errantry 21 

Time 24 

Acceptation 25 

The Seeds of Light 26 

I Ask 28 

Highland Spring 29 

The Downs 3° 

Old Year 3^ 

The Moon at Dawn 33 

Serenity 34 

Nightmare 3^ 

On a Soldier's Funeral 37 

Let 39 

Rhyme of the Land and Sea 40 

Slum Cry 4i 

Autumn by the Sea 42 

Magpie 44 

Question 45 

Silver Point 48 
ix 



PAGE 



Deflowered 


49 


The Soul 


50 


Autumn 


52 


Street Lamps 


54 


Persia — Moritura 


56 


Gaulzery Moor 


58 


The Moor Grave 


59 


The Prayer 


60 


Dedication 


61 


SONGS 




Devon to Me! 


65 


A Mood 


68 


Counting the Stars 


69 


Straw in the Street 


71 


Cuckoo Song: Dartmoor 


72 


Countryman's Song 


74 


Land Song of the West Country 


76 


Past 


79 


When Love is Young 


81 


Wind 


82 


Rose and Yew 


83 


The Cup 


84 


Village Sleep Song 


85 



X 



DOGGERELS 






PAGE 


Drake's Spirit 


89 


Plymouth 


91 


The Chff Church 


92 


Promenade 


94 


Tittle-Tattle 


95 


The Robin 


97 


To My Dog 


98 


"The Birth of Venus'' 


100 


To the Spirit of Our Times. [1899] loi 


The Flowers 


104 


Hetaira 


106 


The Devon Sage 


107 


Rhyme after Rain 


109 


Life? 


III 



XI 



MOODS 



A Dream 

I dreamed. Now God appeared to me, 
And beckoned. Forth, in night, we went 
To where a tall and lonely tree 
With ropes of yew-dark bough was bent. 
And, crowned by fiery sky of stars, 
God said: "O man! confess thy faith! 
The word thou speakest saves or bars, 
For here are gallows of thy death!" 

Then, staring at that gallows yew. 

And all the starry witness, I 

With ague shuddered. Well I knew 

That I must speak, and tell no lie; 

For if in cowardice I fled 

The clean confession of my hope, 

God would not spare, but hang me dead 

Within that twine of yew-dark rope. 



Yet even while I strove to find 
Breath for my words, to make them live, 
There stabbed such pity thro' my mind 
That I my happy life must give — 
Give up my little day, my all, 
With this my imrepentant breath, 
And watch my choking body fall 
Condemned by my own words to death. 

For surely what I had to tell. 
The doubting story of my trust. 
Denying faith in Heaven or Hell, 
Would make me very gallows-dust 
To this dark God stark standing there, 
So like a tall black shadow flung 
Up high on misty midnight air 
By lighted lanthorn lowly swung. 



And all my days of past delight, 
As to a drowning man came by — 
And all the litanies of night — 
And prayed, and spoke me tenderly. 
And all the perfume and the grace, 
The steaHng beauty of this earth, 
Put out its fingers to my face. 
And softly murmured me its worth. 

I saw my love with tender eyes. 
And unbound hair, and girdle free; 
I watched her darken with surprise. 
And cry: "Dost thou abandon me?" 
And what could I but answer then: 
"My flower, my pearl, my summer sky, 
When God requires their faith of men. 
What can they do, save speak and die?" 



I marked the pageantry of noon 
Once more with gold and music pass; 
I saw the silvery cold moon 
Spill her last glamour on the grass; 
I hung once more above that stream, 
Whose twining waters draw me down 
And down from gazing, till I seem 
Myself to be that water brown. 

I felt the last sweet wind creep up 
To tell his tale from tree to tree, 
And steal his scent from honey-cup 
And shake the fragrance over me. 
I heard once more the cuckooes call — 
And ah! the misery of pain. 
To know that once was once for all, 
And I'd not hear my bird again. 



I heard a last proud battle-cry, 
And felt my pulses leap once more, 
And saw bright lances pierce the sky 
And all the wizardry of war. 
I felt once more the wings of sleep 
Soft closing round my drowsy head, 
And pressed my languid being deep 
Within the snowdrift of my bed. 

Then, as I choked, and manned my soul 
For death, two stars came flying low, 
As might some disembodied owl, 
CircKng unsighted, but for glow 
Of its twin yellow eyes; then all 
The owhsh stars came clustering near; 
And from its horrid grandeur tall 
That gallows-yew bent down to hear. 



And faint I spoke: "I know my faith 
But shadows that required of men. 
Yet, O thou God! if only wraith 
Of creed I hold, 'tis all I can. 
^•'or well I know that he is base 
Who hides in grey hypocrisy. 
And ghb pretends, to save his face, 
And says 'I see,' who does not see.^ 

"This then, O God! is all my creed: 
In the beginning there was still 
What there is now, no less, no more; 
And at the end of all there will 
Be just as much. There is no score 
Of final judgment. Wonder's tale 
Will never, never all be told. 
There will be none without the pale. 
No saint elect within the fold. 



"If then this mighty magic world 
Has always been, will ever be, 
There must be laws within it curled 
That spin it thro' eternity. 
I see two equal laws obey 
One sovran, never-captured Law — 
For all this world would melt away 
If Heart of Mystery we saw. 

"And first of these twin equal laws 
Is that d)aianiic force which flows 
In life — of every birth the cause — 
Replumes the tree, and swells the rose; 
Inflames and clouds the violet Spring, 
Inhabits all the mighty flood, 
The breezes* lightest whispering, 
The every impulse of our blood. 



^^That spirit force which cannot tire 
Of franchisement, and keeps no troth; 
Nor ever rests from building spire 
And painting colours on the moth. 
A quenchless flame that Hcks all air, 
And lights and drives the wandering star, 
That dyes with gold the maiden's hair, 
And rives with frost the granite spar. 

"The second equal law is this: 
ImpHcit deep in all increase 
And stir of hving things, there is 
A nothingness, a fate of peace, 
A night, a death, an ebbing down, 
A fading out of life. The bush, 
That burgeons, dons a funeral gown; 
And every tune contains its hush. 



lO 



*'A11 forms upswelling have within 
Their hearts a static decadence; 
In utter stillness does the thin 
Reverberation lose its sense; 
To ash the spark of spirit dies, 
Each revolution of each sphere, 
Each swoop of every bird that flies 
To its own stilly death draws near. 

''And there's between these laws the leap, 
And drive, and stir of endless war; 
The sway from rage of lust to sleep. 
And all the cosmic whims that mar 
Perfection. From this Strife is born 
All variance of shape and flight — 
As clouds of mountain sunset torn 
From slumber-grey by flare of light. 



II 



"Yet these two laws, so fixed apart 

As day and night, are brought to fold 

Within that one and Sovran Heart 

Whose secret never shall be told. 

Yet shall thro' time, and thro' all space 

With mystery pervade the world, 

And make it holier than face 

Of dawn that sun and mist have pearled, 

"That Sovran Heart is Harmony! 
Its eyes unseen, its ways unknown. 
'Tis utter Justice; boundless Sea 
Of Unity; and Secret Throne 
Of Love ; a spirit Meeting Place 
Of vital dust and mortal breath, 
That needs no point of time or space 
To bind together Life and Death. 



12 



"'Tis thus, O God! I see the Vast— 
Self-fashioned, and Self-wonderful — 
A jewel infinite, so fast 
With secret light, can never dull; 
It is all Space, so cannot fall, 
It is all Motion, may not move, 
It is of Time the very all, 
And has within itself all Love. 

''And that brief gathering of dust 
And breath — myself — doth bear this All 
Resemblance, both of outer crust 
And inner fire, perpetual. 
I too, a battlefield of laws. 
Am rhymed with Harmony Divine — 
That knows, alone, the utter cause 
Of me; and can the end define. 



13 



"Yea, I am nothing but a gleam 

Of mystery— a tiny pearl 

Of sunlit water, but a dream 

Immune from waking. Through the whirl 

Of ages I shall never earn 

Reahty; and if I might, 

I would not. Wherefore should I yearn 

To hft the veil, and strip delight? 

"Though rush and stab of pain bemuse; 
And snakes of evil coil me round 
With slimy torment; dark with hues 
Ironic, Grief and Pity hound 
Me to rebel with aching heart — 
Rebel, rebel until I die! 
Yet in my secret soul apart 
The whole is rhymed — that know I. 



14 



"If through our night stalk comrades Pain 

And Wrong, 'tis but the dipping half 

Of equipoise. This Hfe again 

I shall not live, and I would have 

My living soul in flower with love 

Of Harmony — that so my death 

Shall be no fall, and no remove, 

But reconcilement's very breath/' 

I ceased. Then that dark, tail-up Thing 
Of Terror, that great shadow flung 
On curtained Night, black-menacing, 
Stretched hand to where the gallows hung. 
And all the owHsh stars abased 
Their staring; and the yew-ropes twined 
To catch me, where I desperate faced 
Him — all my eager life resigned. 



IS 



Yet, in that bravery of soul 

Which flames in icy clutching death, 

I bade my parching tongue outroU 

The last defiance of my breath: 

'^Thou art not Him I know! Thou hast 

No part in all my vision. Thou 

Art Dissonance and Hatred. Fast 

Is my God throned. No God art Thou!'' 



Then all the firmament gave groan 
Of death. And lo! That was not there! 
The curious stars had winged, and gone 
To their far ghtter; all the air 
Was crystal. Swift, the gallows yew, 
Unbinding all her branches, meshed 
My face with shade; and sudden dew 
With frost my nightmared soul refreshed. 



i6 



And there around me dark had flowered 

With day; and summer moths as bright 

As amethysts uprose, and towered, 

To gem with colour all the night. 

The blossoms smelled like noon, and shone 

In crimson patines on the dark. 

And — ^wonder ! Carolling alone 

In sky of night, I heard a lark. 

A silent music — grass and leaf, 
And stream, and whispered morning — blew 
Around me; and a burning sheaf 
Of Sun, in darkness, glistened thro'. 
The breathless wind, of fire and frost, 
Flew to the leaves, yet stirred not one. 
And round me all the happy host 
Of life was flying, yet had flown. 



17 



No more were life and death apart, 
No more the winter longed for June. 
And oh! the marriage in my heart 
Of sun and shadow, hush and tune! 
It still was night, and yet was day! 
O magic dream of God revealed, 
Of waking sleep, and golden-grey — 
O Utter Mystery unsealed! 



i8 



Courage 

Courage is but a word, and yet, of words, 
The only sentinel of permanence; 
The ruddy watch-fire of cold winter days, 
We steal its comfort, lift our weary swords, 
And on. For faith — without it — has no sense ; 
And love to wind of doubt and tremor sways ; 
And life for ever quaking marsh must tread. 

Laws give it not, before it prayer will blush, 
Hope has it not, nor pride of being true. 
'Tis the mysterious soul which never yields. 
But hales us on and on to breast the rush 
Of all the fortunes we shall happen through. 
And when Death calls across his shadowy 

fields — 
Dying, it answers: "Here! I am not deadT^ 



19 



Love 

O Love ! — that love which comes so stealthily, 
And takes us up, and twists us as it will — 
What fever'd hours of agony you bring! 
How oft we wake and cry : " God set me free 
Of love — to never love again!" And still 
We fall, and clutch you by the knees, and 

cling 
And press our lips — and so, once more are 

glad! 

And if you go, or if you never come. 
Through what a grieving wilderness of pain 
We travel on! In prisons stripped of light 
We blindly grope, and wander without home. 
The friendless winds that sweep across the 

plain — 
The beggars meeting us at silent night — 
Than we, are not more desolate and sad! 



20 



Errantry 



y 



Come! Let us lay a crazy lance in rest, 
And tilt at windmills mider a wild sky! 
For who would live so petty and unblest 
That dare not tilt at something ere he die, 
Rather than, screened by safe majority, 
Preserve his little Hfe to little ends. 
And never raise a rebel battle-cry I 

Ah! for the weapon wistful and sublime. 
Whose hfted point recks naught of woe or 

weal, 
Since Fate demands it shivered every time! 
When in the wildness of our charge we reel 
Men laugh indeed — the sweeter heavens smile, 
For all the world of fat prosperity 
Has not the value of that broken steel! 



21 



Ah! for the summons of a challenge cry 
That sets to swinging fast the bell which tolls 
A high and leaping chime of sympathy 
Within that true cathedral of our souls 
Set in our bodies' jeering market-place — 
So, crystal-clear, the shepherd's wa>^ard pipe 
From feasts his cynical soft sheep cajoles. 

God save the pennon, ragged to the dawn, 
That signs to moon to stand, and sim to fly ; 
And flutters when the weak is overborne 
To stem the tide of fate and certainty. 
That knows not reason, and that seeks no 

fame — 
But has engraved around its stubborn wood 
The words: "Knight-Errant, till Eternity!" 



22 



So ! Undismayed beneath the serried clouds, 
Raise up the banner of forlorn defence— 
A jest to the complacency of crowds— 
Bright-haloed with the one diviner sense: 
To hold itself as nothing to itself; 
And in the quest of its imagined star 
To lose all thought of after-recompense ! 



23 



Time 

Beneath this vast serene of sky 
Where worlds are but as mica dust, 
From age to age the wind goes by; 
Unniunbered summer bums the grass. 
On Hon rocks, at rest from strife 
The aeons are but lichen rust. 
Then what is man's so brittle Hfe? — 
The buzzing of the flies that pass! 



24 



Acceptation 

Blue sky, grey stones, and the far sea, 

The lark's song triUing over me; 

Grey stones, blue sky, and the green weed- 

You have no sense that I can read; 

Nor on the wind's breath passing by 

Comes any meaning melody! 

Blue sky, grey stones, and the far sea. 

Lark's song, green weed, wind melody — 

You are! And I'll contented be! 



25 



The Seeds of Light 



Once of a mazy afternoon, beside that southern 
sea, 

I watched a shoal of sunny beams come swim- 
ming close to me. 

Each was a whited candle-flame a-flickering in 
air; 

Each was a silver daffodil astonied to be 
there ; 

Each was a diving summer star, its brightness 
come to lave; 

And each a little naked spirit leaping on the 
wave. 



26 



And while I sat, and while I dreamed, beside 

that summer sea. 
There came the fairest thought of all that 

ever came to me: 
The tiny lives of tiny men, no more they 

seemed to mean 
Than one of those sweet seeds of light sown 

on that water green; 
No more they seemed, no less they seemed, 

than shimmerings of sky — 
The little sunny smiles of God that glisten 

forth and die. 



27 



I Ask 

My happy lime is gold with flowers; 
From noon to noon the breezes blow 
Their love pipes; and the wild bees beat 
The drums of all these summer hours . . 
Yet stifling in the valley heat 
A woman's dying there below! 

Between the blowing rose so red 
And honey-saffroned hly cup, 
Receiving Heaven, so I lie! . . . 
But down the field a calf hes dead;* 
At this same burning summer sky 
Its velvet darkened eye looks up. 

Behind the fairest masks of Hfe 
Dwells ever that pale constant death. 
What, then. Philosophers, to say? 
Must we keep wistful death to wife? 
Or hide her image quite away, 
And, wanton, draw forgetful breath? 



28 



Highland Spring 

There^s mating madness in the air, 
Passionate, grave. The blossoms burst; 
The burns run quick to lips athirst; 
And solemn gaze the maids heart-free. 

The white clouds race, the sun rays flare 
And glamour — ^gold on pallid mist; 
With greedy mouth the Spring has kissed 
The wind that Hnks the sky with sea. 

The blue and lonely mountains stare, 
And, longing, draw the blue above. 
The hour is come! O Flower of Love^ — 
I can no longer keep from thee! 



29 



The Downs 

Oh! the Downs high to the cool sky; 
And the feel of the sun-warmed moss; 
And each cardoon, like a full moon, 
Fairy-spun of the thistle floss; 
And the beech grove, and a wood-dove. 
And the trail where the shepherds pass; 
And the lark's song, and the wind-song. 
And the scent of the parching grass! 



30 



Old Year 

To-night Old Year must die, 
And join the vagabonding shades of time, 
And haunt, and sob, and sigh 
Around the tower where soon New Year will 
chime. 

How fast the slim feet move ! 

The fiddles whine, the reedy oboes flute; 

Lips whisper, eyes look love — 

And Old Year's dying, dying underfoot! 

So mute, and spent, so wan — 
Poor corse! — beneath the laughter flying by; 
The revel dances on 

And treads you to the dust — condemned to 
die! 



31 



Among the flowers that soon 

Will cling and breathe above your pallid 
death, 

On with the rigadoon! 

Dance, dance! Be uttered never a mourn- 
ing breath! . . . 

The moonhght floods the grass, 

The music's hushed, and all the festal din; 

The pale musicians pass. 

Each clasping close his green-cased violin. 

Old Year! not breathing now, 
Along the pohshed floor you He alone; 
I bend, and touch your brow — 
My dead Year, that has slipped away and 
gone I 



32 



The Moon at Dawn 

When, every dawn, the homeless breeze 
Creeps back to wake the sleeping trees, 
The moon steals down and no one sees! 

Yes! every morn, no watcher there. 
She turns that face, once angel fair, 
And smiles, as only harlots dare! 
• ••••••• 

I saw her once, the insatiate moon. 
Go steaHng, coiffed with orange hood. 
From Night, her lover, still in swoon — 
All wanton she, who chaste was wooed! 



33 



Serenity 

The smiling sea 

And land do dream, and sky; 

The very bee 

Doth dream as he goes by. 

In dreamy fields 
Of blue, moon's scimitar 
Doth dream it shields 
One dreaming timid star. 

The barques drift slow, 
And, dreaming, melt away 
Where golden glow 
Consoles the death of day; 



34 



And land is stark 

With that far row of trees 

Like pujff-balls, dark, 

And eerie, down the breeze. 

The dreaming flowers, 
The dreaming lovers nod. 
Serene these hours — 
Serenity is God! 



35 



Nightmare 

There fell a man in the heat, 
Out of the race he ran, 
Who knew too well he was not beat- 
O God! Was I that man? 



36 



On a Soldier's Funeral 

No pipes have skirled; 
But Heaven's wildest music blares! 
Above the compound lightning flares, 
The rain is whirled. 

No drums shall roll — 

'Tis but a private soldier gone! 

The cold light paints no funeral stone — 

No bell need toll! 

He lived his tame 
And little day of silent tasks 
And silent duty — no one asks 
To know his name. 



37 



The milestones fade 
Along the road that he has come. 
No cheer of music takes him home — 
His wage is paid. 

The wind shrills high, 

The rapid day is chasing grief 

With lash of bUnding rain — and brief 

The footfalls die. 



38 



Let 

My love lived there! And now 
'Tis but a shell of brick, 
New-pamted, flowered about — 
So far from being quick 
As night, when stars die out. 

From windows gaily wide. 
Where once the curtained dark 
My Heaven used to hide, 
The memories wan and stark 
Troop down to me outside. 



39 



Rhyme of the Land and Sea 

By the side of me — the immortal Pan — 

Lies the sweetest thing of the sea; 

In her gown of brine, 

With her breast to mine, 

And her drowned dark hair lies she! 

And her eyes that have looked on the fathomy 

weed, 
So mournful are fixed on me: 

"I am thy slave, O Master, Pan! 

And never shall more be free!*^ 

But her smile — like the wine-red, shadowy 

sea. 
When the day slides past and down — 
By the gods, it is tender death to me! 
In its waters dark I drown! 

"O slave of mine! Thou mystery 

Of smihng depths — I drown!'' 



40 



Slum Cry 

Of a night without stars — wind withdrawn, 
God's face hidden, indignity near me, 
Drink and the paraflGoi flares to sear me — 
Dust-coloured hunger — so was I born! 

Of a city noonday — sand through sieve 
Sifting down, dusk padding the glamour — 
I of the desolate, white-lipped clamour 
Millioning fester — so do I live! 

Of a poor-house morning — not asking why, 
Breath choked, dry-eyed — death of me star- 
ing; 
Faces of strangers, and no one caring — 
God! who hath made me! — so shall I die! 



41 



Autumn by the Sea 

We'll hear the uncompanioned murmur of 

the swell, 
And touch the drift-wood, delicately grey, 
And with our quickened senses smell 
The sea-flowers all the day! 

We'll count the white gulls pasturing on 

meadows brown. 
And gaze into the arches of the blue, 
Till evening's ice comes steaUng down 
From those far fields of dew. 

Now slow the crimson Sun-god swathes his 

eye, and sails 
To sleep in his innumerable cloak; 
And gentle heat's gold pathway fails 
In autumn's opal smoke! 



42 



Then long we'll watch the journey of the 

soft half-moon — 
A gold-bright moth slow-spinning up the 

sky, 
And know the dark flight — all too soon — 
Of land-birds passing by. 

Through all the black wide night of stars 

our souls shall touch 
The sky, in God's own quietude of things, 
And gain brief freedom from this clutch 
Of Life's encompassings. 



43 



Magpie 

O Magpie, lonely flying — 
What do you bring to me? 
Two for joy, and one for sorrow! 
Loved to-day, is lost to-morrow! 
O Magpie, flying, flying — 
What have you brought to me? 



44 



Question 

Where do we go, brothers, when we are 

done— 
Where drift, free of dull clay? 
Hover — dancing beams of the sun, 
Sheen of moon on the night woods fey? 

Are we a cry, brothers, wind in the trees — 
Bough songs, whispering by? 
Wild-grass music under the breeze? 
River's chuckle and reedy sigh? 

Shall we be flower cups, golden and white, 
Field stars — lighted each noon? 
Dew-grey cobwebs, spun in the night — 
We grand travellers, gone so soon? 



45 



Are we the desolate moods of the sea, 
Vague rhyme, lap of green waves? 
Grey bird's call; the hum of the bee; 
Bat's shrill gibber in eerie caves? 

Light on the fern — shadows spilled from the 

leaves ; 
Bud-gold, dyed in spring dawn; 
Ivied satin under the eaves; 
Wind-blown silver of summer com? 

Are we the griefs buried deep in dear hearts — 
Sore left — mourning us gone? 
Watching yew-tree's shadowy darts; 
Rain-drops, sad, on the funeral stone? 



46 



Shall we flit comforting over the earth — 
Brave thoughts, ghosts of kind days; 
Soft console each quavering birth; 
Death's old whispering footsteps praise? 

Where is the home for us? Let it be told, 
Thou dark God, and I cease! 
Not till wings of Mystery fold 
May my question rest in peace! 



47 



Silver Point 

Sharp against a sky of grey 
Pigeon's nest in naked tree; 
All the silver twigs up-curled, 
All the leafy spirits furled; 
Not a breath to fan the day! 

World aspiring and severe, 
Not a hum of fly or bee, 
Not a song, and not a cry. 
Not a perfume stealing by; 
Stillest moment of the year! 



48 



Deflowered 

Here I come, to my trade! — 
Look back at me, sad men!- 

What I am now, you made — 
A ghost, a painted murrain. 

Here I stand, in the dark! — 
Look back at me, sad men!- 

The gay hours that I mark 
Will never strike again. 

Here I droop, in the night! — 
Look back at me, sad men!- 

The dark flower of delight 
Bedrabbled down with rain. 



49 



The Soul 

My souFs the sky— my flying soul! 
The lightnings flare, the thunders roll, 
The sun and moon and stars go by, 
And great winds sweep my soul, the sky! 

My brooding soul — my souFs the sea! 
The snaky weed, and whishing scree, 
The white waves^ surge from pole to pole, 
And still green depths — the sea's my soul! 

My soul's the Spring — my loving soul! 
Will dance, and leap, and drain the bowl 
Of love; and, longing, twine and cling 
To all the world— my souFs the Spring! 



50 



My fevered soul! My soul's the Town! 
Thro' flaring street goes up and down; 
The bells of feast and trafiic toll 
And maze their music m my soul. 

My tranquil soul! My soul too wide 
For Sky, or Spring, or Town, or Tide! 
Thou traveller to outer strand 
Of Home Serene — my soul so grand! 



SI 



Autumn 

When every leaf has different hue, 
And flames of birch tree blow; 
And high against November blue 
The white cloud's bent in bow; 

When buzzard hawk wheels in the Sun, 
And harsh daws crown the cleave, 
And autumn paints the heather dun, 
And white buds make believe; 



52 



When droning thresher hums its song 
And tale of harvest proves, 
And rusty steers the lane-ways throng, 
And grey birds flit in droves; 

Then bird, and beast, and every tree. 
And those few flowers that blow, 
Do seem such treasure-loves to me 
Who would no winter know! 



53 



Street Lamps 

Lamps, lamps! Lamps everywhere I 
You wistful, gay, and burning eyes, 
You stars low-driven from the skies 
Down on the rainy air. 

You merchant eyes, that never tire 
Of spying out our little ways; 
Of summing up our little days 
In ledgerings of fire — 



S4 



Inscrutable your nightly glance, 
Your lighting and your snuffing out, 
Your flicker through the windy rout, 
Guiding this mazy dance. 

O watchful, troubled gaze of gold, 
Protecting us upon our beats — 
You piteous glamour of the streets, 
Youthless, and never old! 



55 



Persia— Moritura 

Home of the free! Protector of the weak! 
Shall We and this Great Grey Ally make sand 
Of all a nation's budding green, and wreak 
Our winter will on that unhappy land? 
Is all our steel of soul dissolved and flown? 
Have fumes of fear encased our heart of 

flame? 
Are we with panic so deep-rotted down 
In self, that we can feel no longer shame 
To league, and steal a nation's hope of 

youth ? 
Oh! Sirs! Is our Star merely cynical? 
Is God reduced? That we must darken 

truth. 
And break our honour with this creeping 

faU? 



56 



Is Freedom but a word — a flaring boast? 
Is SeK-concern horizon's utter sum? 
If so — ^To-day let England die, and ghost 
Through all her godless history to come! 
If, Sirs, the faith of men be Force alone. 
Let us ring down — The farce is nothing 

worth ! 
If Life be only prayer to things of stone, 
Come Death! And let us, friends, go mock- 
ing forth ! 
But if there's aught, in all Time's bloody 

hours. 
Of Justice, if the herbs of Pity grow — 
O Native Land, let not those only flowers 
Of God be desert-strewn and withered now! 



57 



Gaulzery Moor 

Moor of my fathers — the road leads high — 
I, a slow-foot traveller, pass, 
Gorse and heather, heather and grass, 
Up to the curve of the autumn sky. 
Purple are all the darkening tors 
That crown the swift-retreating day; 
The far-blown wood-smoke steals its way 
From stars of fire in the cottage doors; 
And the South-West wind with her reedy 

tune 
Sings in the pines her wild, soft praise; 
There hangs a golden, mocking moon 
At the Western comerways! 

Then, ah! beneath these native trees 

To press my body to the earth; 

To drink the life-wine of this breeze, 

And — drinking — die of dearth! 



58 



The Moor Grave 

I lie out here under a heather sod, 

A moor-stone at my head; the moor-winds 
play above. 

I lie out here. ... In graveyards of their 
God 

They would not bury desperate me who died 
for love. 

I lie out here under the sun and moon; 

Across me bearded ponies stride, the cur- 
lews cry. 

I have no little tombstone screed, no: "Soon 

To glory shall she rise!'^ But deathless 
peace have I! 



59 



The Prayer 

If on a Spring night I went by 
And God were standing there, 
What is the prayer that I would cry 
To Him? This is the prayer: 

O Lord of Courage grave, 

O Master of this night of Spring! 

Make firm in me a heart too brave 

To ask Thee anything! 

/ 



60 



Dedication 

Thine is the solitude that rare flowers know, 
Whose face is slender aristocracy. 
And yet, of flowers that in the garden grow, 
There's none disputes thy sweet supremacy. 
Thine is the oldest secret of the world: 
How to be loved, and still to keep apart — 
A lily blown, a bud not yet uncurled — 
Gold-fortuned I, whose very breath thou art ! 



6i 



SONGS 



Devon to Meli 

Where my fathers stood 
Watching the sea, 
Gale-spent herring-boats 
Hugging the lea; 
There my mother Hves, 
Moorland and tree. 
Sight o' the blossom! 
Devon to me! 

Where my fathers walked, 
Driving the plough; 
Whistled their hearts out— 
Who whistles now? 
There my mother bums 
Fire faggots free. 
Scent o' the wood-smoke! 
Devon to me! 



65 



Where my fathers sat, 
Passing their bowls; 
— They've no cider now, 
God rest their souls! — 
There my Mother feeds 
Red cattle three. 
Taste o' the cream-pan! 
Devon to me! 

W^ere my fathers sleep, 
Turning to dust, 
This old body throw 
When die I must! 
There my Mother calls, 
Wakeful is She! 
Sound o' the West-wind! 
Devon to me! 



66 



Where my fathers lie, 
When I am gone, 
Who need pity me 
Dead? Never one! 
There my Mother clasps 
Me. Let me be! 
Feel o' the red earth! 
Devon to me! 



67 



A Mood 

Love's a flower, is bom and broken, 
Plucked apace— and hugged apart. 
Evening comes, it clings— poor token — 
Dead and dry, on lover's heart. 

Love's the rhyme of a summer minute 
Woven close like hum of flies; 
Sob of wind, and meaning in it 
Dies away, as summer dies. 

Love's a shimmery morning bubble 
Puffed all gay from pipe of noon; 
Spun aloft on breath of trouble — 
Bursts in air — ^is gone — too soon! 



68 



Counting the Stars 

The cuckoo bird has long been dumb, 
And owls instead and flitting jars 
Call out, call out for us to come, 
My Love and me, to count the stars; 
And into this wide orchard rove — 
The whispering trees scarce give us room, 
That drop their petals on my Love 
And me beneath the apple bloom. 

And each pale petal is alive 
With dew of twilight from the sky, 
Where all the stars hang in their hive, 
That we've to count, my Love and I. 
The boughs below, the boughs above. 
They scatter, lest their twisted gloom 
Should stay the coimting of my Love 
And me beneath the apple bloom. 



69 



And when the Mother Moon comes by, 
And puts the little stars to bed, 
We count, my timid Love and I, 
The pretty apple stars instead; 
Until at last all lights remove. 
And dark sleep dropping on the combe, 
Fastens the eyelids of my Love 
And me beneath the apple bloom. 



19 



Straw in the Street 

Straw in the street! 

My heart, oh! hearken — 

Fate thrums its song of sorrow! 

The windows darken — 

God of all to-morrow! 

Straw in the street! 

To wintry sleeping 

Turns all our summer laughter. 

The brooms are sweeping — 

There's naught for me hereafter! 



71 



Cuckoo Song: Dartmoor 

Mayday wears a summer smile, 

Mayday is a mummer, 

Sleepy rills and fat green fields, 

All the coat of summer. 

Sturdy blackthorn twining stars. 

Golden gorse a-shining, 

All the tors blow honey-sweet 

Honey deaths to pining! 

Cuckoo's tell-a-secret song 
Mocks the bells, mocks the bells. 
Whistle back, and win along! 
Win along, and follow! 
Cuckoo's on the restless moor, 
Church is in the hollow! 



72 



Moorland birdies hopping by, 

Skylark's dew a-dropping; 

Whispers from the valley stream, 

Crisp the ponies cropping! 

Clash your bells! Old Church have done 

Of wishing you may get me! 

I'll go worshipping the sun 

While the sim will let me! 

Cuckoo's fetter-breaking song 

Mocks the bells, mocks the bells! 

Come, my heart! Let's go along! 

Go along, and follow! 

Cuckoo's on the living moor. 

Church is in the hollow! 



73 



Countryman's Song 

Ah! trouble and trouble and sorrow! 
My heart has grown cold wi' her eyes. 
I'm cheated for aye o' me morrow, 
And sick to be laid where she Hes. 
For what does it matter what's comin'? 
'Tis sure to be better than this. 
Oh! hollow the tune I am hummin \ 
An' truth that I starve for her kiss. 

The taste o' the wind as it passes, 
The clocks in the strikin' o' time, 
The smell o' the rain in the grasses 
Were she — an' 'tis all out o' rhyme. 
So what does it matter what's comin'? 
'Tis sure to be better than this. 
Oh! hollow the tune I am hummin'. 
An' truth that I starve for her kiss. 



74 



She gave me a long look o' pity, 
Like a little white owl from a tree, 
An' dropped. ... So this wonderful city 
Has only dead ashes for me. 
An' what does it matter what's comin'? 
'Tis sure to be better than this. 
Oh! hollow the tune I am hummin'I 
An' oh! to be done wi' it — ^bliss! 



75 



Land Song of the West Country 

The lanes are long, and home is far, 

But we'll go jogging, jogging on. 

The day grows dim, here comes a star. 

Athwart the bank the young moon peeps, 

And all the honeysuckle sleeps. 

But we'll go jogging on. 

The sunset's vanishing apace, 
But we'll go jogging, jogging on. 
The land's all Hke a maiden's face. 
The more you look the less you see, 
'Tis all a glowing mystery. 
And we'll go jogging on. 



76 



The trout are rising in the stream, 
We ford it, jogging, jogging on. 
The mill-wheeFs turning in a dream; 
The chafer's booming overhead, 
And every Uttle bird's in bed. 
And we go jogging on. 

The cottages are praying smoke, 
As we go jogging, jogging on. 
The hayrick's bonneted a-poke; 
The tawny kine are stretched at ease 
Beneath the dusky, sleeping trees, 
As we go jogging on. 



77 



There's many a drop of tender rain 
As we go jogging, jogging on. 
And many a while that's fine again. 
There's many a dip and many a rise, 
And many a smile of friendly eyes. 
There's many a scent, and many a tune, 
And over all the little moon, 
As we go jogging on. 



78 



Past 

The clocks are chiming in my heart 
Their cobweb chime; 
Old murmurings of days that die, 
The sob of things a-drifting by. 
The clocks are chiming in my heart! 

The stars have twinkled, and gone out — 
Fair candles blown! 
The hot desires burn low, and wan 
Those ashy fires, that flamed anon. 
The stars have twinkled, and gone out! 



79 



Old journeys travel in my head! 
They come and go — 
Forgotten smiles of stranger friends, 
Sweet, weary miles, and sweeter ends. 
Old journeys travel in my head! 

The leaves are dropping from my tree! 

Dead leaves and brown. 

The vine-leaf ghosts make pale my brow; 

For ever frosts and winter now. 

The leaves are dropping from my tree! 



80 



when Love Is Young 

When Love is young, she needs no staff, 
No teaching how to lure and laugh; 
When Love is young, she swoons away — 
So fiery sweet is Love in May! 

When Love is old, she has no toys. 
No burning hours, no rainbow joys; 
When Love is old, she's like a dove — 
Yet strong as death is winter Love! 



8i 



Wind 

Wind, wind— heather gipsy, 
Whistling in my tree ! 
All the heart of me is tipsy 
On the sound of thee. 
Sweet with scent of clover, 
Salt with breath of sea. 
Wind, wind— wayman lover, 
Whistling in my tree! 



82 



Rose and Yew 

Love flew by! Young wedding day, 
Peeping through her veil of dew, 
Saw him, and her heart went fey — 
His wings no shadows threw. 

Love flew by! Young day was gone, 
Owls were hooting — Whoo — to-whoo! 
Happy-wedded lay alone, 
Who'd vowed that love was true. 

Love flies by, and drops a rose — 
Drops a rose, a sprig of yew! 
Happy these — but ah! for those 
Whose love has cried: Adieu! 



83 



The Cup 

Here is my Cup; a fairy bell, 
Where the wind's rough fluting turns 
To a thin-tuned sigh of shell! 
And all the breath of melody 
In sob and song she brings to me. 

Here is my Cup; a crystal pool 
Where the milk-white moonUght bums, 
And the golden sunlight's cool. 
As twilight dark, like dew a-shine, 
The goblet she of every wine. 



84 



Village Sleep Song 

Sleep! all who toil; 
The harvest wains have lumbered by. 
Cool night has donned her dress of dew 
And dusk; so dark's the sleepy sky 
That all day long was burning blue. 

Sleep! good red soil, 
That gave such store of golden grain; 
For sleeping lies the harvest day, 
Asleep the winding leafy lane 
Where none's afoot to miss his way. 

Sleep! \dllage street, 
YouVe stared too long upon the sun, 
More gentle are the eyes of night. 
Sleep, windows! all your work is done. 
And all too soon to-morrow's light. 



8s 



Sleep ! Sleep ! The heat 
Is slumbering. No chafers hum; 
And fast asleep the harvest flowers. 
The spinnmg jars, and owls have come 
To sing to sleep the drowsy hours! 

Sleep! honey hives! 

And swallow's flight, and thrushes' call! 

Sleep, tongues! a little, while you may, 

And let God's cool obHvion fall 

On all the gossip of the day. 

Sleep! Men and wives, 

A sweetness of refreshment steal; 

The morning star can vigil keep; 

Too quickly turns the slumber wheel — 

And all you httle children, sleep ! 



86 



DOGGERELS 



Drake's Spirit 

When the land needs 
I am coming; 
I, Francis Drake, 
From my roaming. 
Till then, howl, dogs 
Of prophecy! 
I yet will drive 
The unknown seal 

If my land calls 
I am coming; 
I, Francis Drake, 
From my roaming. 
So, rest my drum! 
And phantom barque 
Still for a while 
Go sail the dark! 



89 



When Heaven wills, 
I am coming; 
I, Francis Drake, 
From my roaming. 
Then, traitors black, 
Grey winds all foul, 
Do ye your worst 
To shake my soul! 



90 



Plymouth 

Stretched at fair ease, 
Clear-eyed I watch the seas, 
My finger on the pulse of Time. 
No nations rise 

Until my captains bid them climb. 
The trade of worlds I signify; 
And 'neath my stones 
The bones of sailors lie. 



91 



The Cliff Church 

Here stand I, 
Buttressed over the sea! 
Time and sky 
Take no toll from me. 

To me, grey — 

Wind-grey, flung with foam- 

Ye that stray 

Wild-foot, come ye home! 

Mother I — 
Mother I will be! 
Ere ye die, 
Hear! sons at sea! 



92 



ShaU I faU, 

Leave my flock of graves? 

Not for all 

Your rebelling waves! 

I stand fast — 
Let the waters cry! 
Here I last 
To Eternity! 



93 



Promenade 

All sweet and startled gravity 

My Love comes walking from the Park; 

Her eyes are full of what they've seen — 

The httle bushes pufi&ng green, 

The candles pale that light the chestnut tree. 

The tulip and the jonquil spies; 

The sunshine and the sudden dark; 

The dance of buds; and Madam Dove; 

Sir Blackbird fluting of his love — 

These Httle loves my Love has in her eyes. 

In dainty shoes and subtle hose 

My Love comes walking from the Park. 

She is, I swear, the sweetest thing 

That ever left the heart of Spring, 

To tell the secret: Whence the pollen blows! 



94 



Tittle-Tattle 

Tittle-tattle! Scandal and japes, 
Gibe, and gossip, and folly's rattle! 
Ringed to fashion, caught like apes 
In your cage of tittle-tattle! 

Mean your skies. 

And mean the ways you tread; 

The meanness of your eyes 

Is never fully fed. 

You that have birth 

In gold and grovellings! 

You superfluity 

Of miserable earth. 

You trousered things 

And women without souls — 

Out of the sunlight 

To your holes! 



95 



Tittle-tattle ! Whisper and pry ! 
Sneers and snigger, and empty prattle ! 
Truth and charity into a lie 
To the tune of tittle-tattle ! 



96 



The Robin 

As I sit hunting for the word 

Each morning in my room, there comes, 

As bold as day, a robin bird. 

And eats up all the breakfast crumbs. 

O little friend! so still as air, 
As your own bobbing shadow, still; 
O bright familiar, strutting there 
Till you have pecked your little fill — 

You are no bird, you fairy sprite 

In hue of red, and hue of dust. 

Who come to turn dark thoughts to hght- 

For what are you but living trust? 



97 



To My Dog 

My dear, when I leave you 
I always drop a bit of me — 
A holy glove or sainted shoe — 
Your wistful corse I leave it to, 
For all your soul has gone to see 
How I could have the stony heart 
So to abandon you. 

My dear, when you leave me 

You drop no glove, no sainted shoe; 

And yet you know that humans be 

Mere blocks of dull monstrosity, 

Whose spirits cannot follow you 

When you're away, with all their hearts. 

As yours can follow me. 



98 



My dear, since we must leave 
(One sorry day) I you, you me; 
I'll learn your wistful way to grieve; 
Then through the ages we'll retrieve 
Each other's scent and company; 
And longing shall not pull my heart — 
As now you pull my sleeve! 



99 



"The Birth of Venus" 

The Spring wind fans her hair, 

And after her fly little waves, 

Her feet are shod in pearly shoen. 

And down her foam-white breast doth shine 

A silver moisture, and new-strewn 

Petals encarnadine. 

Her eyes are deaths to care. 
Her eyes of love are tender caves. 
The blossoms blowing on the trees — 
The yomig Spring's soft enchanted stir — 
The himaming of the golden bees — 
All are the voice of her! 



loo 



To the Spirit of Our Times. 1899 

(After Sir Walter Raleigh) 

Tell Life she smells of gold, 
And Simpleness is gone; 
Old Honesty is cold, 
And Greatness lives alone. 
Tell Arts they cringe for pelf, 
And Pens they flourish cant; 
Tell Creeds they are but Self, 
And Tongues they do but rant. 

Tell Credit and Fair Names 
They show too smug a face, 
The bow of Honour aims 
Where Honour has no place. 
Young Effort's wing is down 
And tries no more to soar; 
Since Fair-Play wears the frown 
Of hatred at our war. 



lOI 



Tell Charity she's mean, 

Whose light is never hid; 

And Mercy she's unseen 

When such as women bid. 

Our Virtue's name is treason, 

A bond of empty seaUng. 

Tell Hearts they Hve by reason, 

And Heads they faint with feeling. 

Tell Smiles they have the canker 

Inherent of conceit; 

False Wit it is but rancour 

A-sneering at defeat. 

Tell Victory she's breath 

That has no longer Beauty; 

And Dignity of Death 

Which saves him from his duty. 



I02 



Tell Chivalry's complacent, 
And Modesty asleep; 
Prim Decency too decent, 
And Caution all too deep. 
Tell Joiurnalists their teaching 
It festers in the city; 
And Trade of overreaching, 
That has no room for pity. 

Tell Comfort she's too sure; 
Tell Patriots they seem. 
Our Wealth is but a lure, 
A brazen, petty dream. 
Ah! Truth it has no core. 
But plays a hollow part; 
For Justice goes no more 
With singleness of heart! 



103 



The Flowers 

In mountain mom, at silver dawn, 

From out the grey dew smother. 

Flower children peep 

Through cobweb sleep, 

And rise from Earth, their mother. 

To mountain sky — sun golden high 

In his cerulean yonder — 

Like starry snow. 

They jewel below. 

And lift their dewy wonder. 

At mountain noon, to Zephyr tune. 

Each in her own wild fashion, 

Fey — ^young and old — 

With scarves of gold 

They weave the dance of passion. 



T04 



Till lost in dream, by dying gleam- 
Broidery rare and spangled — 
Their perfumed skein 
Is wound again, 
All amethyst entangled. 

And soft in night, by moony light, 

Under the moth's pale hover. 

Grey witchery — 

Sweet, velvet, shy, 

They touch the dark, their lover. 



los 



Hetaira 

She gave him all her heart; 

She slept beside him; 

She lived her hour in dreaming of his good. 

From all else kept apart 

That he might pride him: 

She loved him only! Surely all she could! 

She braved his darkest mood 

To cool his fever; 

Her care was fairy tale that never ends. . 

And when she died? Ah! would 

They praise her? Never! 

You see, she was not married to him, Friends I 



io6 



The Devon Sage 

Zach'ry lad! Venture does et, 

'Tes no gude to set an' muzz et! 

'Tidn' for yu to play at homin', 

All yure vathers went a-roamin'; 

Vish be plenty, sea be wide, 

Never know, ontil yuVe tried. 

Soon as ever day be litten, 

There's yure motto, bright and written! 

Sail, no matter what the tide! 

Hold on vast an' grip yure saddle, 
Givin' up's all viddle vaddle! 
'Ave no truck nor trade with cantin', 
Gallivantin', puzzivantin' ! 
Take an' du I If one don't pay 
Get yu roim' the t'other way. 
Kape yure Hp as stiff as leather, 
Kape yure 'eart so light's a veather! 
Never snivel, work or play! 



107 



Ef yu're beaten, never know et, 
'Tesn' policy to show et. 
Wheel spins roun', yure turn's a-comin', 
Kape yure 'ead up, kape on hummin'! 
Go it till yu're black an' blue, 
Never cut it till yu're thru*. 
Step et double ef yu valter; 
YuVe a-got to break yure halter 
When they comes to hangin' yu. 

Trouble shakes yu, hold on vaster, 
Never spell the word dizaster. 
Take yure rain an' take yure sunnin', 
Kape yure mouth shut when yu're runnin'; 
Talk's but talk, an' done 'tes done. 
Braggart's not yure mother's son. 
'Unter, varmer, vighter, rover, 
Slape yure slape when all es over — 
Life an' Death 'tes nowt but one! 



io8 



Rhyme After Rain 

Starry-eyed is April mom, 
Rainbells glitter on the thorn. 
Birds are timing down the lane 
Patter song of fallen rain. 
Spring can grieve, but Spring can be 
Very life of minstrelsy! 

Gather the sob, gather the song! 

Neither will last, neither will last! 

All is yours, but not for long, 

Life travels fast! 

Rainbow's dipping out to sea, 
Lambs do whisper devilry. 
Leaves are sweet as e'er youVe seen, 
Sun is golden, grass is green, 
Meadow's pied with flowers wet. 
Thrushes sing: "Forget, forget!" 

Gather the grey, gather the gleam! 

Neither will last, neither will last! 

Certainty — 'tis but a dream! 

Life travels fast! 



109 



Gorse has Kt his lanterns ail, 

Cobwebbed thrift's a fairy ball, 

Earth it smells as good as new, 

Winds are merry, sky is blue. 

Spring has laughter. Spring has tears, 

Life has courage, life has fears. 

Gather the tears, gather the mirth! 
Neither will last, neither will last! 
Old Year's death is Young Year's birth- 
Life travels fast! 



no 



Life? 

Life? What is Life? 
The leaping up of level wave; 
The flaring of an ashy fire; 
The living wind in airless grave! 

Death? What is Death? 
The dying of immortal sun; 
The sleeping of the sleepless moon; 
The end of story not begun! 



Ill 



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